


Where you lay your Head

by madameseahorse



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Grief, Grieving, Injury, Multi, Sleeping arrangements, some blood, talk of death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2020-10-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:35:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26395009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madameseahorse/pseuds/madameseahorse
Summary: I wanted to write a fic about why Coran has a regular, kind of small bedroom when he was the Royal Advisor (and Consort to the King and Queen in my mind). I know it's kind of sad, but life is sad sometimes. Feeling sad can be cathartic and that's what I hope this fic is. I still have bad dreams about season 8 of Voltron: Legendary Defender, weird as that sounds. Guess this fic is cathartic to me.
Relationships: Alfor/Allura's Mother (Voltron), Alfor/Allura's Mother/Coran (Voltron), Alfor/Coran (Voltron)
Kudos: 4





	Where you lay your Head

After sleeping for ten thousand years, Allura never thought she would ever need sleep again. She was a little miffed that she ended up in the pod in the first place. Her father used some alchemy trick to knock her out. If she had it her way, the Voltron Lions would not have been sent away. They would have fought and-

And won? Maybe died like Alfor? Like the rest of her world along with the original Paladin's planets?

With the new Paladins, she was shocked that they actually were able to form Voltron at all. The adrenaline got them through battle, but they all went to sleep shortly after dinner. Coran remarked that humans must need more sleep, to which she nodded. They were currently rebooting the Castle's systems. Running diagnostics and repairing damages from the most recent battle. Coran was saying something about his control panel and laughing.

Allura couldn't take it.

"Stop it, Coran! I can't stand the sound of your laughter!" she yelled.

He immediately stopped.

"Sorry, Princess. I think I'm getting rummy. Ah." He stood up and stretched, his back giving a few good cracks in the process.

"'Rummy?'" she asked, raising a skeptical eyebrow.

Coran shrugged.

"The little one accused the Blue Paladin of being 'rummy.' The Red Paladin explained-"

The tool she held began to protest being bent in half.

"That is not the Red Paladin. King Alfor is. My father. Your partner." The tool snapped, but she did not let go. Even though some of the metal gouged her hand, Allura held onto the broken pieces like it was a lifeline. Even if it was to a sinking ship, it was something to hold. Something real. Something that existed, unlike her father.

"Princess!" Coran came over and whipped out a handkerchief. She wondered how long it must have been in his pocket. He always had handkerchiefs at the ready. One time, she scolded him for always having them. She'd been young and sleep deprived. Mother was in the hospital again.

"Do you remember what you said when I asked you why you always carry handkerchiefs around?" she asked as Coran pried her fingers off of the now mangled tool. Her soft voice a juxtaposition to the pink blood pouring from the puncture mark in her palm.

"I believe you said that I couldn't just assume that everyone I ran into would be sad and crying. Called me pessimistic."

She winced and tried to pull her hand away.

"That's too nice of a handkerchief to waste on my blood. And your gloves will get dirty," Allura fretted.

Coran looked sharply, his expression clouded with...anger? Guilt? Whatever the emotion, it vanished as quickly as it appeared on his face.

"Do you remember what I said when you called me a pessimist?"

"You said that there can also be tears of joy." She shook her head.

"Then I think I said that there are a million reasons to carry a handkerchief because there are a million and one reasons someone might need one. That's what Pop-Pop taught me." He puffed his chest out with pride.

"Heh."

Coran clicked his tongue.

"This is not a pretty wound. You should get in a po-"

She pulled away from his touch like he was on fire.

"Absolutely not! I will never get in a pod again."

"You don't have to be in there for long. A half a varga should suffice."

Allura shook her head. He was lying. Father lied when he said that he should see her again. Mother lied when she said that she would be alright. They were all liars.

"Ugh, Allura!" he shouted, his tone no longer "rummy" (she only assumed because she didn't know what that Earth word meant). In fact, his tone frightened her. Coran could tell and made an effort to relax his shoulders to make himself look smaller. He ran a shaky hand through his hair.

"At least let my bandage it. I won't have you dying on my watch. Not in a thousand decaphoebs." There was definitely some guilt mixed in with the determination in his voice. Guilt over what was a mystery, but it didn't matter.

With the push of a few buttons, a secret door opened on the control panel and he pulled out a first aid kit. She walked back over to him and presented her hand. Coran pulled out a few pieces of metal still remaining in the wound. Did the planet the metal was mined on still exist? Allura pushed the thought from her tired brain. She watched him as he rinsed it off the gash with sterilized water from springs that dried up when Altea was destroyed. Coran dabbed disinfectant and gingerly applied ointment before carefully placing a square of gauze and wrapping it in place with a cloth bandage.

"You should get some rest," Allura said softly as his head popped up and his eyes opened.

" 'M fine," he murmured.

"How will we defeat Zarkon if you're nodding off while bandaging my hand?" She hoped that she wasn't being too forward or bossy, especially after throwing a fit like a child.

To her surprise, he nodded. There was a pink streak in his bangs and on his forehead. They rode the elevator in silence to the sleeping quarters.

"We'll get up early. I'll set an alarm," he promised and started walking away.

Allura reached out and tugged on his sleeve.

"Aren't you going to bed? Our bedrooms are right here."

Coran chuckled. He couldn't remember the last time he slept in the King and Queen's bedchamber. During the war, everyone just slept where they could when they had the chance (and the chances were very few near the end).

"I think I'll sleep in my bedroom." He tried to pull away, but her grip tightened.

"You're bedroom is here. Next to mine."

Her confusion was cute. Endearing. It gave Coran hope that she wasn't war-hardened yet. If she could still be naïve and innocent after everything she had been through so far, then he could protect her heart and mind in addition to her physical wellbeing.

"I don't think." He cleared his throat, trying to keep his voice from catching on tears.

Her eyes widened slightly as she suddenly understood. It wasn't Coran's room, but Alfor's. Father and Mother's room. It would bring up too many memories and feelings for him to sleep in a room without its owner. Father wouldn't mind, she wanted to say, but even that was too much of a reference to the deceased Altean king.

"I'll set an alarm as well," was all she said. After all, it didn't matter where you lay your head to sleep. As long as you could get up, there was hope.

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to write a fic about why Coran has a regular, kind of small bedroom when he was the Royal Advisor (and Consort to the King and Queen in my mind). I know it's kind of sad, but life is sad sometimes. Feeling sad can be cathartic and that's what I hope this fic is. I still have bad dreams about season 8 of Voltron: Legendary Defender, weird as that sounds. Guess this fic is cathartic to me.


End file.
